Attainment and Tribulation

[Norsepal]

Ch. 1: Disappointment and Understanding

~

"PRESENT YOURSELVES TO THE PATRIARCH!"

It was an auspicious day.

A spring breeze blew through the trees, and leaves floated gently down from the sky, in front of the famed Xianxue Hall of the Lai Clan. At the beginning of each spring, at the renewal of seasons, this gathering was held!

The plaza at which they gathered, normally a place of calm and quiet, was now a riotous affair; one that He Lai, Chosen of the Patriarch, was determined to keep calm, even as the fires within his cultivation base nipped at the very idea of leniency towards the 'mortals' in front of him.

What use did they have for them?

They gathered in front of the hall, bowing, scraping, hoping for a scrap of recognition, a hint of potential seen, but time and time again, every year, they were disappointed. None had talent for cultivation, none had a talent for scholarship, none had what the Patriarch demanded. Not that they ever could, of course, the Patriarch was never satisfied with the paltry offerings that most commonly came through the gates to the Wufeng Valley.

This year, though…

He felt something different. Maybe he would be proven wrong. Perhaps there would be one from without that would show promise. Or, more disappointment, and understanding, in equal measure.

There were few who entered into the service of the Lai Clan, and it had been many years since the last. The Chosen, of course, remembered most of them, as they tended to be those who distinguished themselves amidst the throngs of hangers-on, farmers, and busybodies that sought their favor.

The usual processions and fanfare occurred, gifts and honors presented in front of the mighty jade throne that the Patriarch, a few decades ago, once sat on, each time this ceremony took place. Now, like many times in the past, the throne lay vacant, and He guided the proceedings as he did in the past, although managing it with more grace and less temper than in years before.

Mounted upon the vertical surface of the throne was a pictogram, representing Him. The Patriarch, sitting in meditation, an icon, a symbol of veneration. It was common, in Shou Lung, to venerate various immortals like this, and for one so close to Attainment, it merely made sense for the peasantry and the simple rogue cultivators who lived within the valley to honor Zhou Lai as a deific figure.

_Not that he seemed to care much for the attention,~ He thought, for a moment, eyes drifting back to the Hall behind them. Emblazoned on the front of the building, carved from the finest of qi-dense wood, were two characters: Attainment, and Tribulation. Within, the Patriarch…

He didn’t know, he hadn’t seen his father in a year. There were messages, of course, snippets of instructions, esoteric knowledge, drafts of essays that made his head spin and his cultivation base spin even faster.

The processions and hollow gifts came and went; a hundred-year-old Ganoderma placed in storage, alongside the thousand gardens of them they already possessed. Metal that fell from the heavens, to match his thousand blades made of the same. Silk gathered from lunar moths during auspicious seasons, that made up his thousand robes that vibrated with lunar qi. As the crowds began to thin, however, a ragged stranger, clearly having traveled a long way, came shuffling to the front. Clad in rags that barely resembled traveling clothes anymore, he had walked, walked, and walked even further, feet bloody and calloused under him. In his hand he clutched a book.

Incensed, He stepped forwards, hand already stretching to the blade at his side, to end this impudent beggar’s life, but something made him stop, his mouth falling ajar, his eyes widening.

He knew that handwriting. He knew that spindly scrawl, cramped letters, notes in the margins…

Without a word, He took the book from the beggar, and gave a simple bow to him, before handing him all the gifts that all the others had presented to him. All of the medicinal herbs, cultivated for centuries, all of the metal, born from the stars, all of the lunar silk, singing with the promise of qi.

They were nothing compared to that one, tiny, significant book.

“The Tribute Ceremony is over!”, He barked, voice ringing out over the plaza where only a few petitioners remained. What they had to offer was inconsequential, their concerns meaningless.

What mattered most to He, now, was the concern of a brother for his sister.

"Junjun, where are you...?"

[Norsepal]

Ch. 2: Excitement and Trepidation

~

"I know."

"What do you…"

He's anger flared, tone rising, but he caught himself before he spoke rashly.

Zhou Lai, Patriarch of the Lai Clan, sat before him in meditation, eyes closed, not even sparing a glance to He. His features were impassive, not even a sign of emotion flickered across his face.

He greatly resembled him, so much so that the two were sometimes called Junior and Senior Lai amongst cultivators outside of the Valley.

That was a sight that He had grown used to over time, the lack of response, the cold tone. The Patriarch's method made him formidable indeed, but it drew him far away from the concerns of the world. Or any concern, at all.

Once he had caught himself, He cleared his throat, and spoke more carefully.

"Father, if you know where she is, why do you continue to let her wander?"

"Because she cannot help me, and I cannot help her any longer. Her methods are little better than a vagabond Sage. Do you not think I attempted to instruct her?"

His tone was sharp, but even, his lips barely moving, but still, the voice roared out from the Patriarch like a torrent, echoing and amplified.

"... Father. I think you have underestimated her. Have you-"

"No. I haven't read it."

The tone could be considered annoyed, if anything.

"I think you should, Father. It is very developed, and…"

At that, something changed in the Patriarch as he raised his hand, the first movement He had seen from him in a very long time. The motion stunned him to silence.

"So she found a teacher, did she. Fine. Let me see this book."

He handed the book to his father, pressing the worn, incomplete draft into his raised palm.

Zhou's eyes opened, occluded by meditation, as he looked upon the material world for the first time in years. His severing techniques had allowed him to meditate without pause, and there were few reasons to simply not continue cultivating.

His son looked older, hair longer, perhaps a scar or two that wasn't there before. There would have been a twinge of something, perhaps regret, but there was nothing.

Zhou drew the skein, and added it to his loom. These were the things he had severed, this was his method of cultivation.

The Patriarch raised the manual to his eyes, for consideration. "Still too cramped,", he commented, a word of criticism that He heard directed towards Yuanjun for years.

But, after this, silence, as he read.

He read, and he saw.

Long ago, that fated encounter in Candlekeep, and a chance conversation with an Amnian seeker of Internal Alchemy. They spoke for hours about theories, ideas, concepts. In the end, he helped him attain the book the seeker sought, and together, they pried its secrets.

What he held in front of him was, perhaps, Yuanjun's own thoughts on it.

"So she found him.”

The next few pages skimmed through, his shock growing as he read over the text, over the theories, and…

There was a twinge of something. Something left that still had to be severed. Something he had never experienced before, not with her.

Pride, and bewilderment.

[Norsepal]

Ch. 2.5: An Aside, or, a Daughter Making Sense of Senselessness

~

A vial rested in Yuanjun’s hand, stoppered and shadowed. Within swirled something that, despite her best efforts, seemed to elicit a fear from her. A terror that she couldn’t quite grasp.

The only way to confront it was forwards. She had trained a technique specifically for modeling the infinite within herself, something she had termed Water Manifestation. The method involved, for beginners, regarding water within a cup, and modeling how it sat within, expanding it again and again, until it encompassed everything.

This, then, could be a way she could confront it. Techniques were made to be utilized, to be bent in service of a need, and her need was great.

She unstoppered the vial, and poured it into a bowl in front of her, the shadowy stuff pouring into it. The depths of it were unknown to her, even as pale, milky effervescence pooled over the edges.

The shadow, however, was no longer so distracted by wisps and fragments. It reared up from the bowl, as if seeking something, billowing outwards into a form that she recognized.

“F-Father…” She gasped, as the fear gripped her once more, the shadows grasping that emotion, tendrils reaching out for the sweet nectar that sustained it.

All was swallowed by black, save for the golden ribbon that burned ceaselessly in the distance, like a lighthouse beaming the way. She blinked, veils attempting to conceal it, but even so, she brushed them aside, stepping towards the Light That Seared.

Each brush aside caused them to drag upon her more, but still, she did not stop, pulling that shadow, the thing that haunted her, right along with her; it was there that she would rid herself of it entirely.

There!

A breaking point, pain beyond pain, as the light shone over her and burned away at her anew, a sensation she had experienced time and time again, but new, fresh, brilliant each time.

“Remember, Lai, Pain is weakness leaving the body.”

His words rang out to her, amidst the tumultuous din, a reminder. What she was doing was to sear away what was weak within her.

The infinite roared, and her head spun, caught within a storm, of a thousand different possibilities.

~

“D-d-d-do you remember?” The jittering voice of something came to her ears, as she stood on the banks of a lake, low and deep, a voice she recognized, but distorted, angered. “We stood here-here-here-here….” The shadow took her hand, gesturing to the scene.

Her father, standing tall over her, lifting her up by the collar of her robes. She saw it with her eyes; she was so small. Her eyes shone with trust. She wanted to scream, she wanted to tear, but in an instant, it was her that was held by the collar, a shadowy wraith barely making up the shape of where her father stood within the scene.

“Stupid-stupid g-g-g-g-girl.” The lake beneath her yawned, infinitely deep. It was not water now; it could never be water. The chasm beckoned to her, and in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to just sink.

A cry from her side, however, showed her truth. Thrown into the water, robes and all. She struggled to swim, arms and legs flailing as the water dripped into her mouth. It was her, and through this, she triumphed, she overcame, she became better.

“T-t-t-t-triumph? You call survival triumph? NO.” The voice snapped her back, countless memories amidst the storm spiraling in wild, burning fractals, still held by the collar of her robes, dragged through memory after memory of horror, crippling expectation, and an unsatisfiable figure, cold, unfathomable.

“FAILURE! FAILURE! FAILURE!” The voice rang out around her. “Letting yourself get captured! Thrown into a pit! Now you are going to rot there, daughter.”

“... No.”

The fractals sung and spiraled around her, as they dove onwards, dragging that shadowy figure deeper, deeper within her.

~

She emerged from the well, in the place she felt most safe. Around her were the Eight, edifices of those she honored, those she respected…

Though the Eighth was no longer as it was.

Wreathed in blackened tendrils, the figure sat, receiving an audience, eyes cruel, mouth drawn in a thin sneer. It was not for her that he was here, it was for himself.

Zhou Lai.

He stood from his throne, wisps of shadow seeming to cling to it, as if reluctant to let anything go. “This is what you built? A waste. How are you to hone yourself if you spend so much time with petty things?” His tone was sharp, solid, having seized upon the statue itself to give itself substance.

He stepped over to the statue, of her, swaddled in her scholars robes, and flicked it on the forehead, a crack sounding from the rock as a split began to form. “PItiful.”

A wince ran through her at the crack, but…

What pain was there that could not be pushed through?

As the figure raised its hand up, to deliver a blow, she stepped forwards, catching it by the wrist, glaring at the figure with eyes that shone with disappointment.

“Do you know what you taught me, Father?”

She reared a fist back, before punching the statue in the face, the shadow leaking out from the ruined granite where her blow landed. Her knuckles bled, but still she held the statue, not letting go.

It writhed beneath her.

“Stupid girl! I taught you everything. The whole reason you are here is because of ME.”

Once again, the fist raised, and crashed down upon the statue, cracking and splintering as the granite was crushed under her hand. Still, her grip did not let go.

“No, you’re the stupid one. You taught me many very important lessons, but they were things you never intended to teach me.”

If it were truly her father, it wouldn’t have let itself get caught in a physical form. Something she could break. Even if this was a matter of his ki circulating inside of her, influencing her, by pinning it in such a way, she could excise it. Free herself from it.

The shadow roared, stammered, a cacophony of insults, derangement, beratement, a thousand other words that fell on ears that stopped caring for them anymore.

Her free hand reached up, holding an ivory-white scourge that emerged from nowhere, as she brought it down upon the shadowy figure, a scream tearing through both of their throats as it landed.

Brilliant splintering pain raced through her body, and through the shadow as well, as the arm was brought up and down again and again, lashing against the statue of the man that had tormented her.

“You taught me that I could never rely upon you.”

Her voice shook, but not in pain, but anger, the whip raising again as she brought it down, exulting in bringing what she saw as justice to what had brought her so much grief.

“You taught me to find my truths away from civilization.”

The statue that represented her shook, the crack on her forehead beginning to widen, as if something was emerging from within. Each stroke of the scourge opened the cracks wider, and rendered the shadowy statue beneath her more and more unto dust.

“You taught me that filial bonds mean nothing if not supported by love!”

The lash again, the shadow gibbering and wailing incoherently.

“By respect!”

Again, the lash. By now the shadow had separated from the statue, now nothing but splinters and dust scattered across the pavestones, but this time, it was her that grasped it by the collar, holding it over the top of the well from which they both had emerged into this realm within her.

“... I see now.” Her head tilted, eyes shining with vindictive anger. “A tie, something to sever. Negative feelings to empower the Self. Is that what you did, Father? Is it? Was I nothing more than a TOOL?!” She yelled into the shadow’s ‘face’, though she did not receive an answer from it. She didn’t expect one, either.

“Pitiful.” Her eyes filled with pity, at long last, though still tinged with that same hurt, that same anger, that drove her actions.. “Unforgivable. As you severed me, now, I shall sever you.”

The lash rose once more, scouring the shadow once more, as they were united in that brief moment by white-hot, lancing pain. Of Soul, Mind, and Body. A pain that echoed across the world.

She cast the barest wisps of shadow that remained down into the well, down into the chasm, to be forgotten amidst all the other shadows that had haunted her.

She turned back to the statues, the eighth rubble, the first seeming to be trying to break out of a shell. “... Always more work to do.”

It couldn't be helped; she brushed her hands off, as if cleansing herself from it, and got to work.